Hear my last words—they wring your bosoms now
With agony, but yet, some future day,
’Twill soothe you to recall them. Live, my wife!
Sustain thy grief, and live! this ill-starr’d girl
Must not be reft of all. Fly swiftly hence,
Conduct her to thy kindred: she is theirs,
Of their own blood—and they so loved thee once!
Then, to their foe united, thou becamest
Less dear; for feuds and wrongs made warring sounds
Of Carmagnola’s and Visconti’s names.